


Something You Shouldn't Be Telling Me

by runandgo



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Clothed Sex, Dom/sub, Episode: s04e16 Pleasure is My Business, Hair-pulling, M/M, Misuse of FBI Profiling Techniques, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28944807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runandgo/pseuds/runandgo
Summary: “Honestly, I think that profiling work would be a pretty good precursor to the sort of gig our unsub has going on,” Reid muses. Toeing off his shoes, he pulls his legs fully up onto the bed. “A lot of what she has to do is probably similar. Reading her clients, their lives, the spaces they inhabit, in order to find out their fetishes.”In the middle of the call girl case, Reid presents his theory to Hotch. After all, he needs someone to test it on.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 36
Kudos: 267





	Something You Shouldn't Be Telling Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first CM fic, and I hope you enjoy! I just had this little plot bunny while watching through, and I thought I'd indulge it. I don't even know if disclaimers are necessary anymore? But just in case, obviously I don't own any of these characters or plotlines. (Except the sex. That part is mine.) Written in one sitting, with no beta-ing, because I seriously just needed to get it out of my brain.
> 
> I hope you like it! (Also, I've only seen up to this point in the show, so a. please no spoilies, and b. I apologize if anything contradicts future canon, lol.)
> 
> Edit 03/01/2021: I decided to claim this because looking back, I liked it a lot. Thanks for all the love; that was definitely a part of it as well!

“You know,” Reid says, without preamble, leaning back on the hotel bed, “there were a few times where I considered sex work to pay for degrees.” His back hits the headboard, then his head connects with a _thunk_. Ouch.

Across from him, in the brocaded armchair, Hotch coughs into his coffee. Ever the pragmatist, he had been drinking solidly over the table, saving his suit from staining, but it’s still a little funny to see him wiping at his mouth like that. “Really.” He swallows with difficulty -- Spencer can see the muscles in his neck, his jaw, work -- and sets the cup down. “That feels like something you shouldn’t be telling me.” 

Spencer shrugs and settles in between the pillows, holding his files up above him. “Not full-service. I’m not personable enough.” 

“Is that all,” Hotch says dryly. His pen is hovering a few centimeters above the surface of the paper, like he’s reading, but it hasn’t moved along a line since Reid started talking. 

“Just pictures. Maybe online chatting, you know, something where I could -- I could control what people saw of me.” 

“Are you going somewhere with this?” 

“No, not in particular.” Spencer lets his arm fall to the surface of the best beside him. Photos spill out from the file, the kind of thing that could get every one of these businessmen thrown out on their asses. “I was just thinking… ten _thousand_ dollars per session.” 

The change in Hotch’s posture is visible; his shoulders relax a bit, a long exhale. “Well. If you’re ever that pressed for money, Reid, we can talk about a raise.” The tiniest hint of a smirk is in his tone, and Spencer can imagine his lips quirking up at the corners. 

“Honestly, I think that profiling work would be a pretty good precursor to the sort of gig our unsub has going on,” Reid muses. Toeing off his shoes, he pulls his legs fully up onto the bed. “A lot of what she has to do is probably similar. Reading her clients, their lives, the spaces they inhabit, in order to find out their fetishes.” 

“Couldn’t they just tell her?” Hotch asks. He underlines something a few times, forcefully enough that the press of the ballpoint into the paper is audible, but Spencer can’t see exactly what it is. 

“They could, but that’s… very clinical. Pedestrian. That’s the sort of thing that average men do with average prostitutes, but this has to be more than that, because these men think they’re more than that. The madam we talked to says that she trains her girls to be therapists. They have to know their clients better than anyone else.” Spencer shrugs. “I mean, isn’t that the human condition? Wanting someone to know us without having to explain ourselves?” 

“So you think that you can tell people’s sexual proclivities from profiling them.” 

“Sure. I mean, it’s all psychological. It can be predicted, just like everything else we do.” 

Silence falls for a few beats, then, so quietly Spencer almost misses it, Hotch says, “Try me.” 

Spencer can’t help how his breath catches in his throat; he just hopes that Hotch can’t hear it. “I, uh…” He licks his lips. “I thought we had a rule against profiling each other.” 

“Please.” Hotch flips the file closed and rolls his pen over the front of it. “None of us stick to that and you know it. It’s saved our lives in a few cases, too. So try me, Reid, prove me wrong.” 

Spencer opens his mouth, closes it again. The ebbing tide he’s been pushing against for so long is beating him down again, wearing away at his resolve like waves on a levee. “Okay,” he says, and sits up, pushes himself to the end of the bed. He closes his eyes. 

“You’re in a position of authority. Naturally when we think of sex, we think of release, we think of taboo, we think of things that are exciting because we don’t get to do them in our daily lives. A, a progression forward from that would lead to the idea that you like to be submissive in bed.” Hotch hasn’t turned his chair, still, so Reid can’t look him in the eye. He presses forward anyway. “But I’ve never seen you back down in your personal life the way someone who wanted to be submissive might. You… you hold back, yes, but that’s different. You have restraint, you worry about appearing too overbearing. So what I think… I think you want to be dominant. To narrow the scope of your focus from a whole team, from police departments and local communities and bureaucracy, to just you and a partner. You want to make decisions for you, not for everyone else.” When Spencer gets to the end of the paragraph, he’s half-breathless and squirming and torn between wishing Hotch would turn around and wanting to run before they can make eye contact. “It’s also, um, the way you dress, and the way you behave. You have -- you have a protective instinct, and I don’t mean only with work, and it was there before you were a father, so it’s nothing to do with that.” 

“The way I dress?” It’s the first thing Hotch has said since Spencer started and it damn near makes him jump a foot in the air. 

“Suits, ties. It’s not required for the job, we all wear different things, but you like to wear those. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a t-shirt, and I’ve seen you off the clock a lot. It’s about authority, it’s about sending a message. Not even consciously, necessarily, not everyone who takes a more dominant role is aware of it, or trying to attract a submissive partner. It can just sort of naturally happen.” This time, there’s no reply, just a careful sip of coffee, which Spencer takes as a sign to go on. “It’s also about control. If you have things in… in your personal life that you feel are out of your control, then you might seek control in the bedroom. Especially if that wasn’t necessarily, um, a dynamic before.” It’s not like Spencer knew Haley well, before she and Hotch got divorced, but he never got a hint of that from their relationship. 

“Spencer,” Hotch says, and there’s a hint of warning in it, _watch it_ , enough to make Spencer back off, but also enough to send a thrill rocketing through him, warmth pooling in his gut and trickling outwards into his bloodstream. 

“Sorry. Um…” He lets his eyes fall shut again for a few seconds and takes a deep, shaky breath through his nose. “Like I said, you like the idea of caring for people. Every physical touch you use has meaning, you’re not casually touchy the way someone like Garcia is. I think that probably lends itself to a slight bent towards sadism, not in the extreme, but enough that you would be able to comfort someone afterwards. Hurt them if they want it, to make them feel good during, and soothe them once it’s over. Erring on the side of service, even; you’d probably prefer if your partner asked you for it. Something like spanking, maybe.” 

At that word, Hotch’s hand curls closed on the paper. “That’s enough,” he says. No edge to it this time, nothing Spencer can read, because he still won’t turn around, and now it’s making fear crawl to him. Like maybe he read this all wrong. 

“How -- how did I do?” Spencer asks, barely above a whisper. He’s tempted to reach for a pillow, protectively, but he resists. 

“I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about this same thing,” Hotch says, which is _not_ an answer. 

“Hotch…” 

“It’s my turn now,” he says, and turns the chair so he’s facing Spencer on the bed. His face is as impassive as ever, brows drawn slightly together, mouth like a slash, a grim straight line. His eyes are unreadable. 

“O-okay,” Spencer replies, brushes his hair out of his eyes, feeling for all the world like a specimen on a table or something. He doesn’t have much of a choice. 

“Your whole life, you haven’t had to respect authority figures because you’ve been smarter than them,” Hotch starts, leaning the tiniest bit forward. “Teachers, professors, older classmates. You _did_ , but you didn’t have to. Because that means one less thing your brain has to do, and you’re someone who desperately wishes he could turn it off. You don’t want dominance. It’s too much responsibility, it requires too much thinking, when you’re searching for a way to make your brain go quiet. Submission,” he says, and it’s velvety-smooth in his voice, “is that. You can give over that power to someone else. It’s not a question of fitness for the task, it’s a simple exchange, an agreement between people, and the fact that it’s so removed from a battle of wits is what makes it appealing to you. You’re more than willing to push me, any of us, in the field, because you know you can hold your own, and no one would question that, Spencer, or say that it doesn’t make us better. But sometimes all you want is to duck your head and follow orders without having to question them.” 

It’s all Spencer can do to try and breathe normally. Being profiled is always uncanny, but this is personal, like looking inside him, and the worst (and best) part is that Hotch is completely right. 

“Focusing on your body instead of your mind would also help you there,” Hotch muses, letting his gaze fall somewhere into the middle distance. “Not necessarily only with pain, although that’s the obvious answer, and I’m sure a little bit of it wouldn’t be amiss. Sensory play, blindfolds, being tied up, hair pulling, that would be what you’d like best. Something you can feel, instinctively, using your body.” 

Spencer’s pretty sure his mouth has never been this dry in his life, and he’s using all of his willpower to keep from getting any harder than he already is, and he’s sure Hotch has already noticed anyway, and this situation is turning into something he can’t control anymore, and it’s making his head spin with want, pure and simple. Hotch inclines his head a few degrees to the side. “How did you get to the point of being able to do this, anyway?” he asks. 

“Um…” Reid smiles a little, tightly. “Research. I remember everything, remember?” He waits a beat that seems to stretch on forever before he asks the obvious question. “What -- what about you?” 

Hotch shrugs. “You were right.” Then he turns back to the table like nothing even happened, like he didn’t just practically talk his way into Spencer’s pants, and fuck, Spencer can’t be expected to -- he honestly can’t be held responsible for what he does, which is slide down to the end of the bed and touch Hotch on the shoulder and kiss him, when he turns his head, right on the mouth. 

And the response is anything but lifeless and impassive; he springs to life immediately, opens his mouth, sits up straighter to get a little leverage over Spencer and then uses it to his full advantage. His hands come up on either side of Spencer’s face, holding him tightly but not hard. When they part, he looks almost broken open, the way he does when he falls asleep on the plane, unguarded, honest. Spencer’s dizzy and overwhelmed and aching. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Spencer says quietly, nervously, his hands fluttering somewhere between them. 

As an answer, Hotch presses their lips together again, one hand sliding around to the back of Spencer’s head, cradling it. It’s searing, nothing even remotely innocent about it, one of the dirtiest kisses Spencer’s ever been given. He feels like a cartoon character with his head spinning on his shoulders once Hotch draws back. “You can tell me to stop, too,” he says, more like a reminder than anything else. “Always, Spencer, and I don’t care where we are, what we’re doing, I will.” 

Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t want that, I want… you.” 

“You can have me,” Hotch says, and finally gets up, till he’s standing over Spencer. He guides them till Spencer’s lying on his back and Hotch is hovering over him, and then he presses their lips together, moves downward, along Spencer’s jawline, down his neck. He won’t leave any marks there, he’s too careful; Spencer didn’t need profiling skills to tell that. But it’s still heady and addictive to feel Hotch’s lips against his skin, his stubble scraping just the tiniest bit. 

When he reaches Spencer’s shirt collar, he stops. “Take this off for me,” he says. His tone’s barely changed, but somehow it’s weightier, enough to make Spencer scramble to do as he says as soon as he leans back to allow for it. “Sweater too,” he adds. 

Reid does it, in a haze of giddy arousal, until he’s shirtless in the hotel room. It’s cold, and he’s self-conscious for a split second, until lips connect with his skin again and he forgets about that. Hotch is kissing back up towards his mouth, and then keeps kissing him, in little bursts, sounds that echo in the space, filthy-sounding in a way that makes Spencer’s stomach roll over itself in excitement. “Tell me what you want, Spencer,” Hotch says, in between the slide of their lips. 

“I want you to tell me,” Spencer admits, before he can overthink it. 

“Good,” Hotch replies, and he hadn’t even touched on praise when he’d been analyzing Spencer, but the words roll through him, a wave of warmth. And like a reward, the hand that had been on the back of Spencer’s head fists closed, tightly, around his hair. The pull is sweet and delicious, and it makes Spencer moan, against his better judgment. “That’s good, Spencer, I want to hear you,” Hotch says, and Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and gasps in a breath. 

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?” Hotch slides his other hand, flat and open, down Spencer’s torso, and Spencer can feel himself breaking into goosebumps where skin meets skin. “My pet theory about you, wondering if I was right. Obsessing over it, sometimes, thinking about it after everyone was gone. Getting hard under my desk and wondering if you were there, if you’d drop to your knees for me.” He flicks the button on Spencer’s pants open, slides the zipper down. “I don’t think I ever could have imagined you being this eager, the way your head falls back so easily at the slightest touch from me.” 

“I’ve never heard you talk this much,” Spencer says, trying to keep his hips from bucking upwards into the touch. 

“I don’t always have this much to say,” Hotch replies, amused. “But when it gets this much of a reaction, I could certainly keep thinking of things. Lift up.” When Spencer arches off the bed, Hotch yanks at his pants and underwear till they come down around the middle of his thighs, and he barely has time to react to the bareness before Hotch is touching him, calloused palms, sweet and slow and heavenly, a sharp contrast to the dull pain from his grip in Spencer’s hair. 

“Oh my God,” Spencer breathes, and tucks his face into Hotch’s shoulder. “Hotch…” 

In response, Hotch twists his wrist and pulls his other hand down just a tad, yanking Spencer’s head farther back. The tandem gesture makes Spencer let out a whine, and he’s a few seconds away from begging, though he doesn’t even know what he’d be asking for. “I want you to look at me, okay?” Hotch says, and Spencer nods as much as he can. “I’m going to step away for a second. I’m just going to get some lube from the dresser.” 

“There’s lube in the dresser?” Spencer asks hazily. He’d started to go fuzzy at the edges, but when Hotch pulls away, things come back into focus a little. 

Where the light catches his face, Hotch is smiling. “When you’re a man staying alone in a place like this, I think they make assumptions. Not exactly surprising, given our unsub’s stomping grounds.” He slides the drawer open and pulls out a little bottle, flipping the lid open. “Got it.” 

“Do we need a condom?” 

Already half onto the bed, Hotch stops and cocks an eyebrow at Spencer. “Are you having regular sex?” 

“Well, no, but I figured-” Spencer stutters, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels right now. 

“Spencer, I’m a divorced father in my 40s and I spend half my day with everyone else. I don’t have _time_ to sleep around.” He’s smiling, but he still brings his eyebrows together as he gets back to his previous position, his hand sliding into Spencer’s hair but not pulling just yet. “Do you want me to use one? I don’t mind, if it makes you uncomfortable, all you have to do is say.” 

“No, um, the opposite, actually,” Spencer mumbles. 

“Okay.” Hotch moves up, and Spencer thinks for a second he’s going to kiss him on the mouth, leans forward a little, but instead his lips press against his forehead. “Here, let me...” He wiggles Spencer’s pants farther down, then urges his legs apart as much as he can. “Just tell me if you need me to stop.” 

“I’m not going to break, Hotch. That’s the danger with you protective types, you can go o- _oh_.” The diatribe turns into a moan when Hotch’s finger slides inside Spencer, a little cold but so very welcome. 

“I know you won’t, by virtue of the fact that you’re here, getting fingered on a hotel bed with your pants not even off the whole way.” When Hotch had gotten that close to his ear, Reid has no idea, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s there. His hand still hasn’t pulled Spencer’s hair again; instead, he’s brushing it from Spencer’s face where it’s stuck with sweat. “If someone was fragile they wouldn’t let that happen. No, you like this, you like to be treated a little roughly.” Now he pulls, just on one lock, and thrusts another finger in. Spencer makes a noise he’s only a little embarrassed of. “You wanted to be seen; you wanted me to do to you exactly what you were doing to me, but you didn’t know how to ask for it. Well, I saw you, Spencer. Exactly what you wanted.” 

“Please,” Spencer says, rocks his hips up, reaching up to wrap an arm around Hotch’s back. 

“Please what?” 

“Please fuck me,” he whispers. When he closes his eyes, again, they’re a little wet, he can feel his lashes clumping together. It just feels so good to be able to let go for once. Hotch was right on the money. 

Hotch lets go of his hair and brushes a thumb across his cheek, wiping the moisture away. “Whatever you want, Spencer.” 

He’s still fully-clothed, Spencer realizes when Hotch backs up. It’s arousing in its own way, gives the illusion that Hotch is more in control (although black pants don’t hide enough for that to hold completely true). He keeps his clothes on, too, just works the pants down the same way he’d done Spencer’s. “That’s… I like that,” Reid says. 

“You like me being clothed while I fuck you?” Hotch says. “What about it?” He slicks some lube over his own cock, the sound is obscene and the sight is worse, and Spencer can’t look away. He’s beautiful, of course. 

“I, um, it’s…” Spencer licks his lips and laughs a little. 

“Having trouble finding your words?” That’s maybe the closest Hotch has ever come to teasing. “I think I know what you were going to say anyway.” He leans down, the scratchy fabric of his jacket pressing against Spencer’s bare skin. “That it’s dirty. It’s a bit like what we were talking about, except less sophisticated, to get fucked by someone that’s still wearing his clothes, that it happened that fast, that you were that… easy.” He bites Spencer’s ear, lightly but still with teeth, to punctuate it. “Am I right?” 

“You’re right,” Spencer says. It’s the truth, but also, he’s pretty sure he’d say anything at this point. “Hotch, come on, please.” 

“Okay.” Holding Spencer open with one hand, he lines himself up with the other, then pushes in until he bottoms out, one long, smooth thrust. It’s the first time that Spencer’s heard him make a noise other than talking, and it’s a stifled, drawn-out _fuck_ that’s half a moan. 

For his part, Reid feels much the same; stretched-out, a little bit of a burn. Overall, though, it’s so good he feels like it’s spreading to every atom, anchoring him in his body. He’s biting the inside of his lip too hard to speak, so instead, he rocks his hips, slowly, with as much leverage as he can get. 

“Christ,” Hotch huffs, laughing. But he moves anyway, pushing Reid backwards on the covers until they’re both, finally, fully on the bed. And when he starts to set a pace -- a slow one, but still -- Spencer sighs in relief and wraps his legs around Hotch’s back. He’s sort of passively attempting to angle his hips right, but then Hotch says, “I want to see you touch yourself, Spencer,” and his focus immediately changes. 

As soon as Spencer gets a hand around his own cock -- his coordination notwithstanding and practically nonexistent at this point -- Hotch says, “Good, good boy,” and that’s almost enough to make Spencer come right then and there. But he bears down and white-knuckles through it, looks up at Hotch and feels weirdly proud when he sees the sweat beading on his face. It’s a rare sight. 

“I’m not asking you to hold out on me,” Hotch says. “We’re both wound too tightly for this to last too long.” Spencer laughs breathlessly and earns a smile in return. “But you’re going to come when I say, not before.” 

“Am I?” 

“Spencer, you started this because you wanted to make your mind be quiet, to give that over to someone else.” Hotch goes still for a second and looks down at him. “Trust me.” 

“I do,” Spencer says. 

“Good.” And then Hotch is kissing him, again, and speeding up. Spencer’s lost in his own body; the lips on lips, the fullness, the hand on his cock all combining in a whirlwind till he’s almost floating. 

Even Hotch is human, because Spencer can tell he’s breaking his rhythm, thrusts getting faster and more erratic, his breathing falling heavy and harsh on the skin of Spencer’s face. “Are you still with me?” he asks. 

Spencer nods into Hotch’s neck. He feels like the world itself is speeding up, a little bit, urgent need building. 

“Good boy,” Hotch pants. He takes a hold of Spencer’s hair again, more stroking it than anything. “I want you to come now. Come, Spencer.” And his hand closes, pulling Spencer’s head back. 

Spencer shouts and does, shaking, striping himself all the way up to the underside of his chin, squeezing his eyes shut with enough force that his ears buzz. He can feel Hotch jerk against him once, twice, then come, too, pulsing so deep inside him that the warmth feels like it’s spreading through his back. 

Mercifully, Hotch gives it a few seconds before he pulls out. He ducks into the bathroom and returns with two washcloths, wiping himself down and tucking himself back into his pants before sitting on the bed next to Spencer. 

“I came on your tie,” Spencer says fuzzily, blinking. It feels like the light got brighter. “I’m sorry.” 

Hotch quirks the side of his mouth. “I have plenty of other ties. Nice aim, though.” 

“It was not on purpose.” Spencer laughs. “Probably the only time I’ve heard that in my life.” 

“Can I…” Hotch gestures to Spencer’s legs, and Spencer nods and spreads them open again. This feels way more vulnerable than when he opened them to get fucked, weirdly enough, he thinks as Hotch wipes off his inner thighs. “Does your head hurt?” Hotch asks, frowning at the redness he sees under the terrycloth. 

“I told you that one time that you kicked like a nine-year-old girl,” Spencer says. “You pull hair even lighter than one.” 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Spencer smiles. 

“Do you have clothes to sleep in?” Hotch asks. 

“Um, yeah, they’re in my room.” 

“You can borrow some of mine for now.” Bending down, Hotch grabs a pair of striped pajama pants and a gray t-shirt from his open suitcase and hands them to Spencer. 

“Wow.” Spencer rubs his hands over them; they’re soft, and it brings him back, a little, grounds him from where he’d kind of floated away. “You _do_ own clothes that aren’t suits and ties.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. “I do.” He shrugs out of his jacket, then his hand flies to his collar, undoes his tie till it’s hanging open around his neck. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m getting changed.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, I generally don’t make a habit of sleeping in suits, never mind my consistent dress habits outside of bed.” 

“Oh.” 

Hotch pauses. “Spencer, you profiled me -- accurately -- and said that I’d like to take care of my partners after sex. That doesn’t end with cleaning up, and certainly doesn’t result in me kicking them out. You need a break. We’ll go to sleep.” 

“If I need a break, you need a break,” Spencer says. He tries not to smile too wide as he pulls his underwear back up and the shirt over his head. 

“You said it, not me,” Hotch replies, but he doesn’t deny it. Anyway, when they’ve both changed and Hotch climbs into bed next to Spencer, throws the case files onto the other bed, and wraps an arm loosely around his waist, Spencer isn’t about to argue the point. Instead, he just turns out the light, and for once, his brain is quiet enough for him to fall asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked this short little thing! ~~I may have posted this anonymously, since this isn't my main fandom, but~~ (edit: I claimed it. No shame!) I still get notifications for kudos and comments, and I really, really appreciate them, so if you did enjoy it, please let me know!


End file.
